Clever Girl
by Stahlfan125
Summary: Lisa goes to pay her friend Jackson a little visit in the hospital. Somewhat LisaXJackson, though not especially. Prequel to You Can Call Me Jack.


Umm...I wrote this a while ago, after seeing Red Eye for the first time. I plan on this being the prequel to "You Can Call Me Jack", because I'm going to have references to this in the sequel to that.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, etc etc (I don't get why we have to do this! We all know I don't own shit!)

I guess you could say this is mild Lisa/Jackson, though not really. I don't know, you decide.

The part about Jackson's dream may seem a little unrealistic, but I'll tell you right now that he's dreaming about his past, and more specifically his father. I'm going to expand on his past in the sequel, if I ever get about writing it, and I've always imagined that he had an abusive past, so just keep that in mind when you read it.

* * *

**Clever Girl:  
**

"Lisa, seriously, I think it's time to leave," said the ever-worried voice of Joe Reisert over the phone to his daughter. Lisa sighed and put her hand to her forehead, wiping away the sweat there. It sure was hot.

"I'll be out as soon as I hear something, okay?" she replied with the slightest hint of irritation in her voice. Joe sighed. He heard the annoyance and knew that he was testing her patience with his fears.

"All right," he said, sounding dejected. "Then do me a favor and come stay here for a few days, okay?"

"Dad…" Lisa started, but Joe cut her off.

"Really," he said. "Leese, please."

"All right," she said with a sigh. She might as well. "Yeah, sure."

"Good," Joe said with the slightest hint of satisfaction that he managed to get her to accept. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Lisa said for what felt like the thirtieth time that day.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Lisa sighed.

"Dad!" she exclaimed.

"I'm sorry," he responded automatically, though they both knew he wasn't. "I just…I got scared, Leese."

Lisa closed her eyes, the tears squeezing out from beneath her eyelids before she could build up the resolve to stop them. The fear in his voice was what did it.

"I know," she whispered, not wanting him to know that she was crying again. "I was too."

"I know," he said sadly. She could almost imagine him holding her graduation picture in his hand, staring down at it heartbrokenly.

"I'll call you back later, okay?" she said, wiping her eyes hurriedly and standing up.

"Yeah, okay," Joe replied, and she could tell that he was unhappy that she was staying. She bent down and picked up her purse.

"Bye dad. Love you."

Joe was quiet for a short moment.

"Love you too," he replied, and Lisa could tell that he was crying.

* * *

She hung up the phone and wiped her eyes hurriedly, adjusting her skirt and smoothing out her shirt and jacket. She glanced around at the other people. There were several who looked as if they had been there all night. Some were crying. There was one boy sitting in a corner all alone. Lisa wondered where his parents were…

"Excuse me, miss?"

One of the nurses, dressed in a drab green uniform, walked up to Lisa, smiling slightly. Lisa recognized her as the one who had greeted her when she walked in.

"Yes?" Lisa said, smiling politely, but with an unmistakable tired air.

"You can see him now."

Lisa's eyes widened. She was about to say that she didn't _want _to see him; she just wanted to know what would happen to him, but that would look a little odd considering that she had lied her way in there anyway.

"All…all right," she stammered nervously. "Is he…alive?"

"Yes," the nurse said, nodding to Lisa and starting to walk down the hall slowly.

"Is he going to be all right?" Lisa asked, biting her lip.

"We believe so, yes," the nurse replied, turning to look at Lisa interestedly. Lisa ignored it. The nurse must have been told the _real _story by the police. She must have discovered that Lisa Reisert was definitely _not _dating Jackson Rippner, and would rather eat live bugs than even consider it.

"Okay," Lisa said, not really sure how she felt about that bit of information. On one hand, she wanted that bastard to die, but on the other hand…

On the other hand was a few glances that they had shared. Not anything remotely romantic, of course, though the conversations in line, at the bar, and at the beginning of the flight were cute and the perfect beginning to a potential romance. No, the glances were ones when those eyes of his filled with sympathy. Caring. She knew…or, rather, thought she knew, that there was a man behind all that blind hatred. There was someone who could love and care and feel. She almost…pitied him.

And it was that pity that placed her in front of that closed door, with the nurse watching her with suspicion in her eyes. Lisa smiled politely to the policeman who stood to the left of the entrance.

"Don't try anything funny, miss," he said. "If you want to be alone with him, I'll let you alone, but this isn't the right time to get your revenge."

"I know," Lisa said, nodding. "I just…I want to talk to him."

What would she say to him? What _could _she say? 'sorry me and my father blew two holes in you. Sorry you didn't die'? Or maybe she'd apologize for messing up his plan. Yeah, that would be good.

Part of her mind was screaming that she should at least come up with something to say to him before she went traipsing in there, but another part of her just wanted to go in and get it over with. The latter part won, and she hesitated only a moment before she pushed open the door and walked in.

* * *

She closed the door behind her, biting the inside of her cheek as she realized that they were alone, and he could very easily find something to do that would hurt her. Though he was lying completely motionless, his face turned away from her, she was ready for anything.

She walked towards the bed slowly, the only sound her breathing and the tapping of her shoes as she walked. When she reached the edge of the bed, she stood there and looked down at him.

He really was quite handsome. She remembered how she had noticed it the first time she was standing in line. It wasn't the kind of handsomeness that you noticed right away. It grew on you after a while.

She reached out a trembling hand slowly, overcome with the urge to touch his hair, which was drenched in sweat and hanging in his face in thin brown strands. Though frightened that he would awake and slightly repulsed, she let her hand rest on his forehead for a brief moment before she gently brushed the hair to the side.

Suddenly, he turned to face her.

She let out a squeak of fright and jumped back, hitting the backs of her knees on the chair behind her and falling into it. But his eyes were closed. He wasn't awake.

He moved again, this time his mouth twisting into a pained grimace. She started to stand up.

"Stop," he murmured. She froze with fright, his chilling voice cutting through the air like ice. "Stop," he murmured again, but she hadn't moved. She watched his face carefully. The flicker of pain crossed his face again, and he made a small sound, so frightened that she felt the pity welling in her heart. "Please, stop."

The way he said 'please' made tears come to her eyes. She knew it was ridiculous, but after all she'd been through, her tears were flowing much more freely than they used to.

She sat back down, though part of her was screaming at her to run as far as she could, and go back to her father's house. She wanted to bolt down the hall and not look back, letting her fear drain away a little at a time with every step she took.

But she couldn't do that. She couldn't just leave him there. Despite the fact that twelve hours ago he had been trying to recreate her nightmare from two years before, she couldn't leave him. Even though he had threatened her father, threatened her, hit her, choked her, _headbutted_ her…she still felt that pity. She still felt that there was something more to Jackson Rippner than just his job.

"Please, don't," his tortured voice whispered again, and he turned his head away, flinching as though she had hit him. His arm moved up to fend off some non-existent blow, and Lisa watched intently, feeling slightly sick. Was he dreaming? "Stop it, please…"

His voice grew hoarse and frightened, and his eyes were beginning to leak tears. How could this man, this strong, frightening, brutal man, be so…vulnerable? How could he be crying and pleading and weakly attempting to defend himself. How could she be sitting there, watching that, forgetting all the things he had done to her, all the things he had _tried _to do to her. How could she?

"Shhh, it's okay," she found herself whispering. She felt like hitting herself, but still she reached her hand out and brushed his hair away again, her fingertips moving across his forehead delicately. He shivered slightly and actually leaned into the touch like a small kitten would, whimpering again. She wiped away her tears with one hand, feeling sick to her stomach that she was crying because of a bad dream that Jackson was having. How could she?

"Please don't let him hurt me," he whispered laboriously. Lisa stifled a sob. He sounded like a small child. She wiped his tears away and ran a hand through his hair.

"I won't," she whispered. "He's not going to hurt you."

Suddenly, his eyes flew open.

* * *

She jumped to her feet and practically flew three steps back as his cold blue eyes stared into hers. His hand rose to his throat, which must have been killing him. He looked around, noticing that he was completely helpless and that he was alone in the room with her. She smiled to herself, knowing from the fear in his eyes that she had the upper hand.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in his rasping voice, grimacing at the pain that came from talking.

"I thought I'd come back and repay a few debts," Lisa lied maliciously, her eyes narrowing.

"Like what?" Jackson asked with a hoarse laugh. "I think you already repaid them in full." He glanced down at his sheet-covered body and grimaced again. Lisa smiled slightly.

"Maybe you're right," she said, shrugging. "You're going to jail, you know."

"Not for long," Jackson replied glumly. When he saw the confusion in Lisa's eyes, he shook his head. "No, I'm not talking about breaking out, though I wouldn't be above that. I failed. They're not going to be happy."

"The people who hired you?" Lisa asked, feeling a small stab of pity that she couldn't suppress in time.

"A pen jammed through my throat, a heel shoved in my leg, getting hit by chairs and vases and whatever that was that you were beating me with…getting shot _twice_…that's all going to look like _nothing _compared to what's going to happen if they're in a bad mood."

"And if they're in a good mood?" Lisa asked, trying hard not to imagine what they might do to him in a bad mood.

"Then they might just kill me." He smiled sadly. "But I doubt they'll be in a good mood."

Lisa was silent for a moment, aware that her pity was allowing Jackson to gain some of the upper hand. She wasn't sure if that was what he wanted or not, but it seemed likely that that was what he was looking for. She shrugged.

"Well, that's what you get for being a criminal," she said with stony resolve. He nodded. He didn't look upset or angry or anything along those lines. He just looked…sad.

"Maybe," he said under his breath, sounding thoughtful. He glanced at her, his eyes settling on the scar, the top of which was just barely visible thanks to her fairly low-cut shirt. His eyes flickered back up to hers, and she watched him curiously, unsure of what he was going to say next. "I wasn't going to do that to you," he said.

Her hands flew to her scar and pulled her shirt over it firmly, remembering in the airplane bathroom when he had looked at her so tenderly and had touched it…

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She had to stop with that. She had to stop giving him the benefit of the doubt that he was more than just a cold-hearted criminal. Because she had seen what he could do. She had been on the receiving end of what he could do. So why was she felling so much Goddamned pity?

"You were chasing me around the house with a knife, telling me that you wanted my father to see what you were going to do to me," she said forcefully, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. "You were going to…rape me."

She allowed a deep, shuddering breath and looked away. She could show that much emotion. Maybe, if anything, it would make him feel at least a little remorse for what he had done to her mental state.

"No," Jackson replied softly, closing his eyes. He shook his head, biting his lip. "No, I'd never do that."

Lisa's eyes traveled back to him, surprised to hear the emotions in his voice that she thought she was hearing. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that he wouldn't have raped her had he been given the chance.

"Why the indecision, Jack?" she asked, her voice quietly taunting him, using that nickname that he so hated. His eyes opened and stared back at her.

"I couldn't do that," he whispered hoarsely. "No, no, I never would."

He looked away and shook his head again, but Lisa had seen enough emotion in his eyes to finally know that she was right. Jackson Rippner was more than just his job. Just like she was more than the polite, smiling girl at the front desk of the hotel.

"I think you would," she said, though, just to see what his reaction would be. She felt herself growing stronger as he grew weaker.

"Think whatever you want, Leese," he murmured. She felt a tingling sensation of disgust in the pit of her stomach, like she always did when he called her Lise. That was her father's name for her. "But if you thought I'd rape you…then why are you here?"

Good question. Lisa smiled slightly and shook her head.

"I couldn't tell you," she said. He laughed under his breath and looked at the ceiling.

"I figured," he said. He reminded Lisa of the Jackson that she had met back at the airport. She could _almost _forget that he had nearly killed her. That he would have. But she couldn't completely forget. She would _never _completely forget. She looked at him for a while until his eyes came down from the ceiling and looked at hers. He seemed surprised to see the look of pity in them.

"When you do what you do…" she said slowly, looking at him fiercely. "When you kill people…do you ever stop to think about _them_, and not just you?"

Jackson made a face, like he knew the question was coming and didn't want to answer it.

"Come on, Leese," he said mockingly. "Certainly a smart girl like you could have figured that out."

He arched an eyebrow, looking very much like the Jackson from the plane, the Jackson who was creepy and demanding and selfish. She shook her head, and felt a huge wave of relief wash over her. He _was _the job. There wasn't a man beneath that. There was only hate and selfishness and greed. She stood up. He looked at her, surprised.

"Goodbye, Jackson," she said, grinning down at him smugly. "I suppose we won't see each other again."

With that, she turned and walked towards the door, telling herself over and over that Jackson Rippner was not a man. He was just an assassin. A bad guy. A criminal. There was nothing in him that was capable of humor or compassion or, God forbid, any kind of love. No, he was just…the job.

And she walked out of the room, both of them knowing that she didn't really believe that.

* * *

After she left, Jackson closed his eyes and sighed. So it was over. He had finally failed, after so many assignments followed by success, he had finally failed. All because of that one woman.

How the hell had she done it?

He smiled to himself slightly. Though most men in his situation would have been furious, he was just interested. He replayed the events of the past few days in his head. She was charming and polite, slightly aloof at times, very beautiful…and she beat him. She beat him by using brute force, really. And she was lucky that her father was there. She was lucky that she had that cane or whatever the hell it was in her room. She was lucky…but no. Jackson stopped himself. It wasn't all luck. He had to give little Lisa Reisart some credit. She had done some pretty clever things. She had continued talking with barely a pause when the phone had gone out. She had thought of writing the words on the mirror in soap. She had taken that pen…his hand went to his throat bitterly, wincing slightly. That was certainly a good move.

He looked towards the door. The policeman was outside, talking to three people in long black coats. Jackson tensed and looked around the room. There was nothing in his general vicinity that could serve as a weapon. If those were indeed the men that he thought were coming for him, then he would need a weapon if he wanted a chance of survival.

And then he happened to graze something with his hand. He looked down. On the very edge of the bed was a small Swiss Army knife. He smiled brightly as he opened it to reveal the long, hidden blade.

Clever girl.

* * *


End file.
